


On the Table

by VeronicaRich



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lister has his work cut out for him convincing Rimmer he doesn't think of him as an object to be lost in a poker game. Even though he totally did. Follows Series X episode "Entangled."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Table

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Between the Sheets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/551076) by [cazflibs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs). 



> Inspired by another story from Cazflibs, this is set in Series X, so be aware of spoilers.

“Bet.” The one-word imperative was punctuated by the jab of a flabby finger.

“Bet …” Lister muttered to himself as he poked through the cards fanned out in his hand. He widened his eyes and lifted them away from his face, trying not to think how there’d been a time not too many years ago yet that he hadn’t had to stand across a room just to see a few smegging cards. “Diamonds?” he asked, then remembered the language barrier and put his cards down, forming his thumbs and forefingers into the shape of a diamond. The chief nodded, and he resumed his hunt for the suit.

“If I knew where any diamonds were on that ship, this’d be a whole lot easier,” he muttered. He pulled out two cards and threw them in the middle of the table, shaking his head. “I mean, people had to give gifts, get married, get engaged – you gotta have diamonds to do that. Could be betting those instead.” He watched the garbage munchers shove their cards together and lean their heads in to have a conference in a language he had no hope of understanding; not for the first time, some adult part in the back of his brain wondered if he should’ve asked Kryten to come along.

_I don’t need him_ , Lister told himself. _I’m not a green boy who knows nothing about dealing with non-human lifeforms._ He’d followed life signs to the planet hoping to find Kochanski safe and sound, and had instead found engineered lifeforms in possession of some rather advanced-looking ship parts still in fair condition – and more of that GELF moonshine. The shine, the chief and his attendants were all too happy to share freely; the parts, not so much.

And so, poker.

He’d pulled out the deck of worn cards he kept in his inside jacket pocket, the BEGGs had looked confused, and he’d heard jackpot bells in his head.

How long he played those hustlers, he had no idea. But when he’d awakened after passing out and then recovering from the speedy-metabolizing hooch several hours after arriving at the BEGG camp, he’d found his family jewels in lockdown and the keys to _Starbug_ confiscated. He’d argued a bit, then dutifully acknowledged his debt-

-and as he was shrugging into the shoulders of his spacesuit, the chief jabbed a finger aggressively toward the testemolester. “Leggy light-man,” he grunted. “Or BOOM!”

As the others laughed, Lister had nodded and dressed, having no idea what was being referenced. It was only halfway back to the _Dwarf_ , just outside the planet’s atmosphere, that he vaguely recalled his drunken wager just before the last hand was dealt. The memory prickled his skin with sudden cold sweat.

He tried to play off Rimmer’s loss lightly with Kryten, but even the mechanoid regarded him with disapproval. When he thought later that Rimmer knew, but was underplaying his reaction … well, that had made Lister feel worse than any amount of yelling or officious directives-citing. Of course, it was nothing compared to Rimmer kicking him out of his bunk later that day, with a tone that could have frozen a pit of lava in hell.

He lay in his bunk, unable to fall quite to sleep despite being absolutely knackered. Last night had been rough, as Rimmer still refused to listen to any apology and still seemed smegged off over the loss of Irene. Lister had only slept for a couple of hours, and not well. Today, finally, the adrenaline from fear had started to soak back into his body and he’d dragged all day, figuring he’d climb the steps and flop exhausted into his bunk in the evening. Yet here he was, staring at his Jets poster and thinking of the time he’d been successful in a fifty-pound wager against one of the other MegaMart baggers.

Wager. He let his mind drift, nearly asleep. _Wager he’d be angry if he knew I was gambling …_

“See now … here’s a pitshure.” Lister smiled in what he hoped was beguiling fashion at the BEGGs as he fished through the worn leather wallet he’d never been quite able to give up despite going to a cashless system once joining the Space Corps. The spaces had been converted entirely to useless old membership cards from Earth, the long-defunct JMC pay card, and a few small, carefully-handled photos. There was one of Gran and another of his parents’ wedding (and thank the stars he’d had enough foresight to carry the wallet into stasis for three million years!); there was the tiny passport-sized headshot of Krissie – the first Krissie he’d known and whose smile he’d fallen in love with – a somewhat larger photo of Kochanski – the second one, whom he’d never quite been able to start thinking of as “Krissie” so much as occasionally “Kris” when pressed; and in a fit of nostalgia one night while drinking a few years ago, he’d coaxed the others into letting him use almost the last of the Instamatic film to photograph them. Cat had insisted on posing in front of a mirror for four hours to get just the right outfit and grin, Kryten had gone on for nearly as long about how he was just a mechanoid and not a suitable subject for a personal photo, and Rimmer … he’d been the strangest about it. “Why do you want my photo?” he’d asked, suspicious.

“I’m getting the others, too. Just rounding out my collection, man.”

His frown had deepened. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Same as the others – put it here.” He’d held up his battered wallet.

Rimmer had eyed it for a moment, then asked, “So you’re _not_ going to use it on a dartboard, right?”

“I’m not going to throw sharp things at it,” Lister repeated, sighing. “It’s- it’s a picture. Didn’t you ever have photos made when you were in school?”

“Once,” he’d answered. “Frank and Howard stole them from the mail and went to the grocery, and pasted them all on milk cartons before Mother and Father came home.”

Okay, that wasn’t a bad prank, Lister thought. “For missing children, yeah? That’s not … too horrible, Rimmer.”

“On _goat’s milk_ cartons, Lister. They drew these little horns out of my forehead on each one.” Rimmer mimed this with his forefingers. “And under it, pasted the words HAVE YOU SEEN THIS KID?” Lister just managed not to laugh. “Everybody saw it! That’s when everybody at school started calling me Bonehead.”

_If I’d been you, I’d have been grateful a bunch of preadolescent boys were distracted from making something out of “rimmer,” quite frankly_ , he’d privately thought.

Their three photos had gone into his wallet, but even intoxicated, something told Lister to hold back the picture of Kryten – a mechanoid, especially a cleaning droid, might be seen as something of value to be traded for. He hadn’t given quite the same cautious thought to the practical value of a one-of-a-kind practically indestructible, indefatigable hard-light hologram light bee, mainly because he usually forgot there was one buzzing around inside his …

Well. Not his anything, since he’d been kicked out of Rimmer’s bunk and even his daily conversation now. But that was just since yesterday, and the night before yesterday, he’d gotten progressively drunker and sloppier at cards with a bunch of BEGGs and – to the best of his now rapidly returning memory – had chatted incessantly about Rimmer this and Arn that, and how good he looked in blue and how long the hologram could go without sleep and probably some of his best smiles, to boot. At one point, stupidly drunk, he was certain he could faintly remember having gone on for a good ten minutes about the smeghead’s woodsy green eyes.

In the present, Lister covered his face, rolled to his side, and barely managed to suppress a groan at his own thickheadedness. _He_ was the one who’d given the BEGG chief that ammunition; _he_ had made it abundantly clear not only how practical and attractive such a unique hologram could be for assorted tasks (he was too horrified to plumb his memories deeper to see if he’d defined those “tasks,” but from the way the chief had eyed Rimmer in person, he didn’t have to), but also of what value said hologram was to him, personally. He remembered being puzzled when the chief had suggested he play another hand to try to win back _Starbug_ and use Rimmer as collateral. Buzzed beyond good sense and thinking it was a joke, since people couldn’t be property, he’d readily agreed and figured he had nothing to lose.

The BEGGs had obviously picked up on this and outfitted him with a directive he couldn’t refuse. Lister gulped as he remembered the feel of that ridged metal collar around his neck, the exploder bit gradually warming his happy sacks as zero approached, and the fear of leaving it all in the hands of a woman who only knew what she didn’t know as being correct – raising the process of elimination to a life-threatening art form.

Fine. He’d figured out how this likely happened in the first place; well done, Dave. So how did he go about fixing things with Rimmer? “Arn-” he stage-whispered in the semi-dark room, rolling to his other side to aim it down below before he remembered the guy had moved out to officers’ quarters last night.

Closing his eyes, he sighed and tried to work out how this was going to happen.

*****

_Attempt #1:_

It was a simple, but poor, apology the next morning; Lister realized it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Just: “I’m sorry, Rimmer. I didn’t mean it.”

It didn’t even warrant a look from the recipient, who kept writing whatever it was he was writing in whatever stupid notebook he was holding at the main console. Lister would have tried again, but decided to retreat and regroup.

_Attempt #2:_

He let a few hours elapse. He was relieving Rimmer on watch, and as soon Lister took his seat, the other man capped his pen and moved to get up. “Rimmer,” Lister said, swiveling to stop him. “Arn. Please listen; I remember what happened, and I can explain what I did, why it happened.”

“I don’t care,” was the flat reply. He didn’t even make eye contact.

But, Lister reflected a little later, he had spoken. It was the tiniest of cracks in the door, but there it was. He relaxed a little.

_Attempt #3:_

That night as the three of them sat around with dinner in the sleeping quarters and Kryten tidied the grill, Lister swallowed a bite, wiped his hands on his jeans, and decided to try something new. “Rimmer, look – I’m really sorry I wagered you to those BEGGs. I thought it was a joke when they suggested it, ‘cause I _don’t_ think of you as a thing. I didn’t think they were serious about betting a person.”

Cat and Kryten looked mildly interested, but kept eating and cleaning, respectively. Rimmer kept his eyes on his food, his neck flushing. Lister, still hoping to force him to listen in the presence of company for the sake of appearance if nothing else, stepped it up. “You know I wouldn’t try to get rid of you; not with what you mean.” The flush was creeping higher into his cheeks, and Cat glanced between them, frowning as he licked his sharp teeth clean. “I wish you’d come back to-”

“Lister.” Rimmer cut him off sharply, finally looking him in the eye. “Cut it out.”

“Look, they already know we’re together,” he snapped, letting frustration get the better of him. “You’re the only one trying to pretend different.” He started to slide off his seat as Rimmer tossed his napkin onto the table and got up. “Listen to me, man!”

“Shut up, Lister.” He paused and turned back to the Scouser, pointing. “We are no such thing. You are definitely not _my_ kind of tottie; you’re YOU. Look at you!” He made a cutting motion with his hands to indicate being finished with it. “Leave me alone and go find the person you really want to say you’re sorry to!”

“What’re you talking about? You’re the one I lost in the bet!”

“You wouldn’t have ever lost Kochanski in a bet!” Rimmer’s face was red, but Lister realized with the beginning of a horribly sinking feeling that it wasn’t out of embarrassment. “Oh no, you would’ve made sure all the rest of us BUT her got traded first, including yourself! You wouldn’t have even joked about THAT!” He scrunched his nose and launched into a frighteningly accurate parody of Lister’s accent. “Is it Kochanski? Where’s Kochanski? I can’t live without Kochanski! Of course, I don’t have the bollocks to DO anything about it when she’s here, but when she leaves, I can’t smegging shut UP about her! Kochanski, Kochanski, KOBLOODYHCHANSKI! I HOPE YOU FIND HER AND HAVE FIFTEEN SMEGGING SETS OF TWINS ALL NAMED AFTER THE ENTIRE GODDAMN ZERO-G LEAGUE!”

The hologram took quick, shallow breaths at the end of this, nostrils wide enough for spelunkers and narrowed eyes wild with what had to be indignation or anger. Or both. Cat was perched perfectly on his stool beside Lister, not even twitching. Utensils clinked as Kryten washed them for the third time, unnecessarily, his back to the rest of them. Lister barely managed not to sink down and hide under his side of the table. He didn’t know if he was ashamed or angry, and didn’t want to risk being seen or speaking in case the opposite of what he wanted to express came out.

But Rimmer wasn’t finished. “Maybe then,” he finally managed, dropping his voice back halfway to its usual register, “you’ll be _so_ smegging happy.” And he left the quarters.

Normally, Lister would have taken the next few days of silence from Rimmer and subdued communication from the other two as an indictment to try to find a way to counter the accusations, albeit as coolly as he could manage. But this time, he was thinking far too often about what Rimmer had said – and how not even Kryten had tried to defend him, as the mech often did whenever he and Rimmer got into some row. In point of fact, Kryten hadn’t even tried to verbally comfort Lister since; the closest he’d come was bringing him an extra-sugared coffee that night on watch, the way he knew he liked it, and asking if he would like a snack with it. But no words of support. Somewhere deep inside, Lister was sure he didn’t deserve any.

On the fourth afternoon after the blowup, he and Cat were both in the drive room. “So do you think I talk too much about Kochanski?” he asked partway through the shift.

“Buddy, I don’t care if you talk about every girlfriend you’ve ever had,” Cat answered very frankly. He was filing his nails. “So long as _you_ keep in mind if we ever run across a colony of desperate women that need me to make love to them, we’re stopping for about a week. Maybe two.” He stopped filing for a few seconds. “Maybe just one; don’t want them getting too attached.”

“It’s just that I thought she was dead, and then I found out-”

“Don’t you think you need to be having this talk with Alphabet-Head?” Cat cut him off.

“And how would I set that up, do you imagine?”

“Do I look like Dr. Ruth or Phil?” Cat shrugged. “Take a watch with him. It’s about time you two did again. While we’re on the subject, I’m tired of extra shifts to keep you apart; it’s really cutting into my naps.” He licked a finger and smoothed down an eyebrow, not taking his eyes from the small mirror he held. “You two monkeys not taking responsibility for your stuff’s forcing _me_ to be responsible. Cats don’t do responsibility. When’s the last time you heard ‘tomcattin’ around’ to mean ‘working extra shifts and looking out for others?’”

Lister sighed. “I know. But I need to work out what I say to him before I say it. If I don’t say it right, he’ll never listen to me.”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s listening to you either way. I don’t think he’s gonna buy some slick, jazzed-up version of whatever you’ve got to tell him. You just got to say it.”

“Weren’t you the one lecturing me about thinking ahead?” Lister reminded him. “As in, last month?”

“Sure; but this ain’t for supplies, man.”

*****

Lister kept his eyes on his screen as Rimmer took the seat next to him. He’d found a broad asteroid field that was still a few weeks away at present speed, but had magnified the feed and put extra effort into studying its density. It was both good distraction and would probably become necessary to map at some point. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Rimmer logging in and reading through some data, but said nothing; there was no use to charge like a bull into a china cabinet, when it didn’t work. So he kept at his screen while he ran through a score of likely ways to start a conversation – eventually.

“How far out are those asteroids?”

Not expecting Rimmer to speak first, Lister twitched a little in surprise. “Uh … between forty, fifty thousand clicks. A few weeks.”

“How much space does the field take up?”

“Haven’t figured out yet. Working on it.” He tapped out a few keystrokes, waiting to see if any further questions were forthcoming before saying any more. “I think we can easily go around it.”

“Why are you so fixated on having her back?” Rimmer’s sigh was heavily audible. “Can you tell me that?”

“Her?” Lister inwardly winced. It was a lousy response. He knew who Rimmer meant; he’d been trying to figure out how to address that particular point himself. “You mean …”

“Yes, say the name. Go on, I know you know how to pronounce it.”

“Arn, she left in a little ship with no known way to get back to her dimension, unless she found it after she left, which seems pretty damn unlikely. It’s basic human decency to want to make sure a friend isn’t in danger, and find and help them if they are.” He snapped his fingers to punctuate. “Like we came to find you when you went through that wormhole and made all those clones. We didn’t just abandon _you_.”

“Lister, if your quest for Kochanski is anything remotely similar to that, I’ll eat my size elevens. Even you don’t believe that smeg you’re spouting.”

“You saying I’m not decent?”

“Never mind.”

“I’m sorry … I’m avoiding the question.” Rimmer said nothing, focusing on his keyboard work. “I am worried for her, and I _would_ be worried about any of you in the same situation. I am telling the truth there.” Still nothing. “Yeah,” he sighed. “There’s more to her than that.” Rimmer didn’t look up, but did stop as if to listen, so Lister lifted his hands from the keyboard and swiveled to face him. “I – I feel like I missed an opportunity with her; the first one, I mean. The original Krissie. Like we should’ve had more time together, but we didn’t.”

“You went into stasis to avoid more time on the same ship with her,” Rimmer pointed out, still not looking at him, but even in profile Lister could see his brow knitted. “You went to rather a lot of trouble and expense, in point of fact, to avoid having to see her until the smegging ship got back to Earth.”

“Give me _something_ here, Arn; I’m trying to be honest with you, and I even know you might hate me for it, but I’m still doing it as best I can. Let me try to explain this, how it’s come to be, but how it’s still you I want.” He watched Rimmer blink and close his eyes briefly, and wanted to touch his shoulder. But he didn’t. “I screwed up with her; I was too needy. I’ve been too needy with every woman who meant anything to me, and it drove all of them off.

“But then Kochanski – this one, Kris – came along, and I thought maybe I’d learned enough that I could fix things through her. And it always felt like there was the chance there, somewhere, between us, that something could happen. But – I couldn’t commit far enough to make it a relationship. Every time I thought I was close to trying, something’d pull me back and tell me she wouldn’t want me that long, that I was being too needy. Or that it wasn’t entirely what I wanted.” He studied Rimmer’s hands, long fingers resting quietly on the edges of his keyboard as the fingertips stroked the edges. “I don’t know what I’d want from her if I find her. Maybe it’s the idea she could have kids with me. I mean, I’ve fathered three children and gotten to raise none of them. You know how depressing that is?”

“Dave, she’s your mother,” Rimmer quietly reminded him. For the first time, he turned his head and fixed Lister with a look. “You remember that? You know what kind of children you’d have? You see him every morning in the mirror.”

“Yeah.” Lister nodded. “I have thought of that, myself. I didn’t say I was entirely bright.” He tried not to put too much hope into the small twitch at the corner of Rimmer’s mouth, but his heart lurched upward, too.

“With parentage like that, neither would they be,” Rimmer continued. “Their DNA strands’d be straighter than Kryten’s iron creases.” He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me on this. I’ve gotten a lot of bull from a lot of people, including my parents, my brothers, the JMC recruiter, women … You’re probably the one person who’s lied to me the least. If you love that woman, just tell me. I’ll handle it.”

Lister took a deep breath. “I’m not sure what I feel about her, but it’s not the same as for you. That’s really, smegging honestly the way it is. I would like to make sure she’s not dead or hurt. She talked about getting back to her dimension, and her Dave – that may be something we could help her do now.” He thought of the quantum rod and the temporarily disabled _Trojan_ still in the ship’s largest cargo bay.

Things were quiet for a few more minutes, during which Lister turned back to his monitor, not wanting to push. Finally, Rimmer stood as if to leave, but came back from halfway to the stairs to stand behind his chair, facing Lister. “I can’t share,” he finally said. “If Kris is just someone you’re concerned about, I won’t try to tell you how to handle that – but I’m not going settle for half. I’m not going to be your bit on the side if we find her, or your main squeeze until we find her, or any of that.” His fingers dug into the top of the chair. “You don’t want me, or you do – even if she does show up here again. You’d better figure it out.”

*****

Faced with the prospect of being without Rimmer for an even longer stretch of time, possibly never again, had decided Lister’s feelings remarkably fast. He would keep sensors tuned for life signs to try to find Kris, but he needed to face the fact she hadn’t wanted him enough to stay or to make an effort on her own to start something with him. Even when she’d been there, he’d consistently chosen to spend most of his time with the guys, especially Arn, and to stay in the same bunkroom with his very male, not-alive roommate over trying hard enough to get into quarters with a live, albeit alternate, Kochanski.

But the real test was that he never wished for her when he was in bed with Arn. Late at night, once in a while, he did think of her when he couldn’t get to sleep, wondering how things might have played out differently if the nuclear blast hadn’t happened ( _you put yourself in stasis, gimboid – by the time you got out, she would’ve disembarked, or transferred up somewhere else, or gotten married, that’s what_ ) or if Rimmer hadn’t been the one Holly resurrected to keep him from going crazy.

_You’re treating him as second-class, and that’s exactly what used to drive you crazy about how he treated you, isn’t it?_ he chastised himself.

_Attempt #5:_

He presented himself at the door of Rimmer’s quarters shortly before nine the next morning. Still wearing pajamas and hair sticking up, Rimmer answered the door nearly two minutes later, inspected him briefly, then stuck his head out and looked up and down the corridor. “There an emergency?” he asked. Off Lister’s head-shake, he yawned and asked, “It’s not that nutter Hoagy again, is it? We just saw him a couple of months ago.”

“Just me.”

“Come in, I guess.” He padded back in, Lister following, and the door automatically shut. “I wanted to talk.” Lister hesitated for a deep breath. “About yesterday.”

Rimmer sat at the table, straight-backed. Lister grabbed a chair and turned it backwards, pulling it close to him and straddling it. “I want you,” he told Rimmer. “It doesn’t matter if we’re stuck out here the rest of our lives, or if we find Earth with fifty billion people. I want to be with you.” Rimmer arched an eyebrow at him. “You, not Kris. But I’m still keeping a watch for her in case she needs help,” he warned. “It’s no less than I’d do for Kryten or Cat.”

“I know.” He yawned again, but cut it short at Lister’s impatient, “Well?”

“I’m tired, Lister. You woke me up, and I didn’t sleep all that well. I’m not disagreeing or dismissing you.”

For the first time in several days, he reached out and touched Rimmer, taking his hand. “I can help you get back to sleep,” he promised. Off the man’s look, he shook his head. “Not that; just sleeping.”

“Not – yet.” Rimmer didn’t pull his hand away, but he did stand up. Lister tilted his head back to look up at him. “I’ll forgive you, I’ll get to it … but I have to admit, my ardor is cooled right now. I don’t feel like sharing a bed with you again yet.”

Disappointed, Lister nodded and stood, pushing the chair aside. “Let me know when you want to talk,” he told Rimmer. He leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth chastely, lingering, hoping it might turn into more; it didn’t, and he left.

*****

About a week later, the Cat grew so bored he came to Lister on watch and presented one of their card decks. “Come on,” Cat demanded. “Sounds like you need to work on your game anyhow, bud.”

He rolled his eyes, but cleared a space off the center console in the drive room. “My game wasn’t that bad,” he pointed out. “I was just pissed out of my mind.”

“Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself; you’re not going home with my shiny things tonight.”

Lister did over the course of the next hour, in fact, win a rather shiny pen from Cat’s jacket pocket, as well as an emergency earring from his on-person backup jewelry stash. “See?” he pointed out.

“How much lager’d you have with those BEGGs, anyway?”

“Wasn’t how much, was how strong,” Lister countered. “And it wasn’t lager. They’ve got some hooch that makes our GELF stash look like fruit punch.”

“So that’s how you ended up betting Cattle-Brand Face.”

“No, wagering Rimmer wasn’t my idea. The chief came up with that because I couldn’t keep my big fat mouth shut about him; getting drunk is just how I ended up betting _Starbug_ in the first place. I didn’t know how to get back here without it and I was desperate – so, he suggested Rimmer, and I thought I could win. Plus, I thought he was just taking the piss. Who expects someone to really bet a person in a card game?” he scoffed, shuffling the cards.

“A hologram’s not a person, buddy. He’s a light bee.”

“Rimmer’s a person,” Lister said, firmly. “I usually forget about the light bee. ‘Sides, it’s his brain – it looks different from ours, but it’s a brain. Or a heart, you want to look at it that way.” He felt the corner of his mouth tug up. “I usually think of it like that, since it sort of floats around the center of his chest. If it’s really quiet and I’m still awake of a night, I can hear it humming-”

“Hey, too much sharing!” Cat pulled a face.

“Wha?” Lister frowned. “You said I could talk about these things all I wanted.”

“I said your old girlfriends. I’ve seen some photos, and I can think of them when you’re describing those things. But I have to draw the line somewhere, and you and Non-Bud’s tickle-time is standing right on top of that.” The felinoid did a slight full-body shudder as he stood up. “Now I need another shower. Thanks a lot!”

As he bounded off, Lister called, “Don’t forget you’re on shift in two hours!” He shuffled the cards to lay out a round of solitaire and paused at the sound of a metallic creak; he thought it was the stairs, but when he listened for a follow-up, there was nothing. He went back to playing until beeps from the monitor demanded his attention. “Just space dust,” he muttered a few minutes later, finding nothing sizable to worry about – but he kept scanning until he heard from above and behind, the creak of the metal staircase. He checked the clock, impressed. “Less than thirty minutes,” he called out. “Didn’t think you could take a bath that fast.”

A few seconds later, he felt familiar hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressed lightly to the back of his neck. “I have some questions you need to answer,” Rimmer said. His voice was even, his hands still. Lister nodded and slid his hands off the console onto his lap. “What did you mean, by your ‘big fat mouth’ and not keeping it shut about me?”

“What?”

“You were telling Cat-”

“I know what I was telling him; I was telling _him_. Were you eavesdropping?” Lister snapped.

He felt Rimmer bend down, the action putting pressure on his shoulders. “Is this where you’re going to complain that I’m giving you an audience?” he whispered, about an inch from Lister’s ear. He felt the warm breath tickle it, which went straight to his cock – which is why he murmured, rather weakly, “No.”

"So tell me what you meant."

*****

_Attempt #6:_

Lister swallowed, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to reach up and around to pull Rimmer down across his lap. “Just that I told them about you. Game talk, was all.”

“Game talk?” Rimmer spun his seat around so Lister was facing him, and leaned down with his hands on the chair’s arms. “What does game talk entail, David?”

He stared into Rimmer’s brown-green gaze. “You’ve got really nice eyes.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

“I’ve missed your eyes,” he persisted. “Like when you’re about to fall asleep, and you’re laying there looking at me, they’re half-closed … When you’re under me, and you can’t breathe, and you’ve got my hands around you, and they’re wide and sort of flashing, and fierce.” He was pleased to see Rimmer’s pupils widen and hear his breath catch a little. “And I told the chief- I had a little much to drink, and told him all about your eyes. He saw your picture; he wanted you, too.”

“Too.” Rimmer spoke quietly.

“Like I do. ‘Course, not as bad as I do.”

“Lister.” Rimmer straightened, and Lister started to get up, until he was pushed back into the chair with gentle but firm force. “I realize you’re trying to distract me. Just tell me what happened.”

So, he did – more or less. He didn’t share the level of likely detail he’d gone into with the chief about his and Rimmer’s relationship, nor spell out all the negotiations he could remember (he knew if he admitted that he’d tried to bet Cat in counter to their demand of Rimmer as a wager, that Arn would not only smugly tell Cat, he’d remind him frequently).

“Aside from anything else, you gallivanted off to that planet and put yourself in danger by gambling away the ship, floating back here in a flimsy spacesuit, knowing that my existence depends on you staying alive!” Rimmer finally spit out, when Lister shut up for a minute.

He shook his head. “No – I was as surprised as you,” he protested. “It must be the computer we’ve got now. Holly would’ve never shut you off just because I wasn’t around; remember, he gave you the option of staying switched on when I was going to go back into stasis, before we found the Cat? I didn’t know that’d changed ‘til Kryten said it.”

Rimmer drummed his long fingers on the console. “And just how long has that metal menace been sitting on _that_ bit of data, I wonder?”

“Arn, look-” He leaned toward the man.

“Not on your nelly,” Rimmer cut him off, crossing his arms. “What am I to you?” Lister frowned, confused. “What do you feel about me? What am I to you, precisely? Your possession?” He waved a hand as Lister opened his mouth. “Short answers, Dave.” Lister thought about it – and then thought some more, somewhat frantic. “Faster answers, Dave,” Rimmer snapped.

“You’re-” He flailed. “You’re a partner, okay? What else would you be? My partner.” He thought about the truth of the words. “You shouldn’t have to depend on me for your existence, Rimmer. You … should get to choose to be with me, to stay around me, not be forced into it by virtue of circumstance.”

Off the flash of relief in Rimmer’s expression, Lister had one of those rare moments of being able to almost read the man’s thoughts. It wasn’t just Kochanski; he was _scared_ of the extent of control he didn’t possess over his own projection, let alone what he perceived as Lister’s fickle affections. He turned to his keyboard and began a search of the onboard JMC computer. “I never ordered this, or even asked for it,” Lister said absently, selecting and calling up controls of the ship’s holographic suite mainframe.

“What are you on about?” Rimmer wondered, leaning down to watch. He frowned as he seemed to realize what Lister was messing with. “Stop that! You’re going to end up erasing me with that thing!”

“I am not,” Lister scoffed. Basic holography had been covered in the first few chapters of his robotics primer. “You don’t want to be shut off if I die, do you?”

“What?”

“Tied to my existence,” Lister tried to explain, most of his concentration on figuring out command overrides; he was the last human alive, why wasn’t he automatically in charge of _Red Dwarf’s_ systems after all this time? “I’m ending that. Turning it off. Decoupling us; giving you autonomy,” he babbled, lifting one hand briefly to wave it around. “I just have to figure out how it works.”

Rimmer said nothing for a good two minutes, but he did eventually straighten up. Lister began to worry and glanced up. His typing faltered, and he half-turned toward the other man. “Now what’s wrong with-”

“Listy.” He stood, and Rimmer grasped him by the face and pulled him near. Momentary shock numbed him to the immediate rewards of their kiss, but after a few more, Lister felt himself pressed flush to the tall, familiar body, and grinned in relief at hands flattened against his back. “I need to finish this,” he whined, glancing at the keyboard.

Rimmer leaned close and breathed against Lister’s temple. “The idea of you owning my existence … it’s kind of frightening. Don’t mistake me, I want you to finish doing that. But being tied to you, there’s something about it, too-” He trailed off, though Lister could feel his lips still moving silently against his skin, before he practically whispered, “I like it – just right now, just a little bit.” He heard him swallow. “I shouldn’t.”

“Does seem a little smegged up,” he agreed, sliding his fingers into Rimmer’s high collar to rub at skin and move around to the nape of his neck. “You shouldn’t depend on if I live or die.”

“But if you’re dead-” Lister felt the hologram grip him tighter. He couldn’t answer that in any way that would be helpful, so he only said, “You’re not an object, Arn; not a thing to be traded or gambled away, and I’m sorry I did it. I should’ve never gone along; I just didn’t think the chief was serious on it. I should’ve taken my losses with _Starbug_ and tucked tail.”

Rimmer chuffed a short, quick laugh into his hair. “You don’t tuck tail; that’s what I do.” When Lister began to protest, Rimmer shushed him. “Don’t start lying now, Dave. I know what I am … and you do too.” He paused. “And you seem to care about me anyway.”

“You’re not an _abject_ coward,” he allowed. “You’ve gotten better, man.”

“Fair enough,” Rimmer hummed. He pulled away enough to dip his head, but Lister beat him to this kiss, a fierce one with eyes closed and fingers engaged. When they parted a little while later, even Rimmer was breathless, his eyes still closed and hair pulled mostly out of place. “This mean you’ll come back to bed?” Lister wondered.

Rimmer nodded. “Actually,” he panted, opening his eyes, “I was thinking maybe you should come over to my new one. Officers’ quarters, a nice double bed, more room …?”

“What about the bunkroom?”

“It’s already the common area,” Rimmer pointed out. “You play games; everybody comes and goes. I mean, more feet tromp through there than Heathrow in a normal week. I’d have put a lock on the door by now if I didn’t think Kryten would take it as a direct affront to his nannying and saw it off with one of his fifty hydraulic groinal tools.” His nostrils flared as his tone pitched more nasal. “We keep Cat’s milk bottles in the refrigerator. Milk! For someone who doesn’t even smegging live there!”

“All right, point,” Lister soothed, well amused. “We’ll go over to the officer space after shift and I’ll have a better look, yeah?” He drew the man in for another kiss, then asked, “So – do you want me to finish this thing, or not?” When he felt hands slide down and rub his backside, he laughed, breathless. “I was talking about the comp-”

“Later. Maybe tonight.” Rimmer rubbed slowly, some more, and a key part of Lister’s anatomy felt more like granite. “Maybe in the morning.”

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon,” Lister prodded in a reminder of his getting-up habits. “Maybe you make it worth my while first.”

He kissed one of Lister’s eyelids. “Maybe I don’t wait until we get to officer quarters to do just that.”

The Scouser grinned and cocked his head, tilting his chin up. “Maybe I-”

“HEY! Maybe you monkeys don’t get the console all sticky before I have to spend the next eight hours napping next to it!” Cat sidled in along the staircase, scowling at them.

“Technically, Rimmer wouldn’t be getting anything sticky-” Lister began, feeling somewhere between naughty and filthy.

“Man, for the five hundredth time, _too_ much!” Cat made a cutting motion with his hands. “I don’t need to know any more about Forehead’s diddling. Or yours,” he added quickly, pointing at Lister. “Unless you want to stay on shift, you need to remove this-” He indicated them with a wavy finger “faster than bell bottoms go in and out of style.”

Twenty minutes later, they were seated facing a series of three portholes looking out on glowing plasma of space gas. Lister had subverted Rimmer’s expectations a bit earlier when he stopped the man from peeling off his undershirt after his tunic, guiding him instead to the living area of the officers’ quarters. He’d pushed him onto the sofa, slid off his painted leather jacket, and sank down against Rimmer on the deep cushions, crossing his legs toward the man.

Turning a little toward him and taking his hand, Lister observed, “We’d have a nice view here.”

Rimmer looked down to curl his fingers through Lister’s. “Bigger, too. More portholes.” He crinkled his brow. “Why they didn’t just put in a wide window’s beyond me.”

“Structural integrity,” Lister supplied. “Easier to keep hull breaches from happening in a vacuum with smaller, rounder windows. Cheaper, too.”

“I see the engineering course is paying off.” Lister shrugged, smiling. Rimmer seemed to be trying to say more, but hesitated before going on. “Did it really happen the way you said – that you told the BEGG chief about me and he wanted me wagered based on that?”

“Just like I said,” Lister reassured him, his elbow propped on the back of the sofa as he met Rimmer’s green eyes. “It’s why I made you wear that ugly coat to cover you up, and gibber when we went there, so he’d think it was just blind love talking you up at the game, instead of you really being all I made you out to be.”

Rimmer regarded him steadily. “Love.”

Lister lifted his hand and kissed the knuckles. “Love, man.” The hug Rimmer moved to instigate was tight and swift, and Lister kissed him fiercely, until he couldn’t breathe. He panted into his mouth, “Told you I’d win you back.”

“Mm hmm,” Rimmer agreed softly, catching his own breath. “But you’re still not getting out of filling out those forms, miladdo.”


End file.
